Frozen
by Elessar King
Summary: It all happened so suddenly and unexpectedly...gunshots in the hall. The next thing they knew, it was right on top of them. He froze. This couldn't be happening again. It wasn't...this time, it was different. nonslash
1. Wake Up

Alrighty, um.. this is my first Housefic. It's based on an rpg that I'm doing with charmisjess. This part has no rpg stuff in it, I just continued from where we had left off after that night. So this is all me. I hope everything is in character..I'm very new to the fandom, still learning. Everything will make sense in subsequent chapters and I ask to trust that I won't do anything horrendous. :D Feedback is appreciated, but please don't eat me, I'm not crispy and I don't taste good with catchup.

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Frozen

Chapter 1 – Wake Up

He froze. He didn't know what to do. Normally, his hands would just work without intense mental instruction – since House was very intuitive after all – but not now. And there was nothing he could think of to do – all of his medical knowledge suddenly blocked off.

House looked down at Wilson and blinked; the look of shock still engraved on his face. It was as if he was seeing the blood soaking through the younger man's shirt for the first time. Intuition kicked in. He tried to suppress the bleeding. Pressure, he put pressure on the two wounds with both hands.

"Oh God.." Wilson whispered hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Stop your whining," House replied gruffly, "It doesn't hurt that much."

He justified it – his gruffness. He couldn't show emotion or he would freeze up again. The act of suppressing the bleeding helped to suppress his emotions…whether it was one life or many lives that hung in balance at any moment, being untouched by the thought of caring was what kept House impartial, what allowed him to do what was needed.. He swallowed hard.

_Stay with me, James, help is coming._

* * *

Foreman ran down the hall, past the other people helping the few wounded in the hall. They were being taken care of, but something else in the alarm caused him to keep going. As obnoxious, rude and uncaring as House was, it didn't mean that no one cared about him. That much was shown when he was shot before.

He jumped over an overturned cart in his way and spun in the through the open doorway of the office. "Doctor House!" Foreman shouted before taking full stock of the situation, "Doctor..Wilson…"

House looked up quickly, his face deadly serious. "Get help. Get a doctor," he ordered, his tone weighted heavily with urgency.

It seemed strange to House, as Foreman ran back down the chaotic hall, that a doctor had just ordered another doctor, to go get yet another doctor, to help a doctor. Why couldn't the first to do anything? Why were his hands shaking so much?

Time became a buzz. House felt like he was the one laying on the floor bleeding, not Wilson. He wished it was anyone other than Wilson, laying on the carpeted floor of his office with his eyes closed, looking deathly pale. The bleeding wasn't stopping; blood covered both of their hands. Wilson's grip on House's wrists, that he had grabbed out of pain when House first applied pressure to his wounds, had lessened. He looked down at his friend…

"Wilson! Wake up, you lazy ass! You're not dying."

The suddenness of House yelling at him made Wilson jump, like the body twitch on the verse of sleep. He slowly cracked his glassy brown eyes open and took a sharp breath that ended in a shuddering couch. "You're…a real..bastard..sometimes…" he whispered.

"Yes," House replied, "I am. I have to be. Stay awake a little longer."

"Awake…you must be.. joking…"

"No joke. If it was a joke, it would have been funny," House replied, looking up and watching the doorway for help to come, "Because I was telling it and not you." After a moment, he looked down to find Wilson's eyes closed again. House sighed, looking worried, and raised his voice again, "Wilson, wake up!"

No response.

"Ok…you've got a new girlfriend and I know who she is, and if you don't wake up, I'm going to go find her and make out with her in your room in ICU!"

Still nothing – Wilson didn't move.

"Damn it, James, wake up!"

A gurney rattled through the doorway accompanied by the trauma team. House was suddenly outside looking in, only watching as the hospital staff – of whom he was a member – treated his fallen friend. He sat on the floor, out of the way, helpless. As he looked around slightly, he glanced to the side and saw his cane. He wrapped his long fingers around the handle for support, even without standing.

It was surreal. It most certainly had to be a dream…a nightmare.

They all lifted Wilson together up onto the gurney, with everything prepped, and started to take him out of the room. The whole time, James' eyes never opened. He didn't respond to pressure on his wounds, on the pinch of the IV needle.

House watched from the floor as they took away his best friend.

_Wake up, Wilson, damn you…_ he willed in his mind, _or I'll hate you forever for leaving me behind and you know it._ _Wake up._

Wilson's voice, moments before the entire incident, echoed in his mind.

_"Someday, House, you are really going to do someone some damage. Permanent damage. If you don't kill them first."_

And the gunman…

_"Who's the big man now that you killed your friend?"_

House gripped his cane tighter.

_Wake up, Greg._


	2. Mr Jimmy

Here's the second chapter, since I almost have the third done. I finally figured out where this story is um..going. Which is a good thing. Thank you so much for your wonderful and encouraging reviews, they really helped me along. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I believe that there will be four, and then possibly another story to follow. Italics in really big sections are flashbacks, otherwise they're thoughts. The italic section comes almost directly (as I edited a few of my posts) from the rpg with charmisjess. She wrote the House paragraphs, I wrote the Wilson ones. She kicks ass at writing by the way, so that would be why there are much better paragraphs among my chicken scratch :D

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Chapter 2 – Mr. Jimmy

_Beep…beep…beep…beep…beep…_

House rubbed his face with one hand and leaned forward, staring at the same spot on the floor that he had been slowly boring a hole in with his eyes for the past few hours. The steady beeping of the EKG monitor would be a comforting sound if it hadn't been engrained in his head. House found one of his many reasons (and a minor one too) for not being in a patient's room was confirmed…the noise. EKG beeping, blood-oxygen monitoring, oxygen nose-tube…labored breathing, nightmares…

He looked up slightly at Wilson's pale face. This was the second day that he had spent sitting with his friend in-between his other duties at the hospital. House wouldn't admit it, but he found it difficult to get back into work when there were other things on his mind. Normally, nothing like this was going on, he could concentrate fully on a case. But now he was distracted. However, he mused, he didn't mind getting out clinic duty.

With a tired sigh, he looked away again from his friend who was still unconscious, and looked up at the television that he had turned on. He was restless…not even General Hospital could really hold his attention for long.

Slowly, he stretched his leg out, massaging his thigh a little. House looked back to Wilson and hesitated a little, then shrugged slightly. "I know you won't mind, Wilson…there's more than enough room," he said as he put his feet up on the edge of the bed, getting more comfortable in the still uncomfortable chair.

He watched James for a moment, half expecting a response to kick his feet off of the bed, and make him turn off the TV. But there wasn't one. House sighed again and looked down. He reached for the remote and turned the TV off, then pulled his ipod out of his pocket.

Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall, he hit play, letting the music pick up from where he had last left it – already in the middle of a song. House was tired, he hadn't been sleeping well. If it wasn't his leg hurting, it was re-occurring dreams, and if it wasn't that, then it was the voice of the gunman echoing in his consciousness…

_I went down to the Chelsea drugstore  
__To get your prescription filled  
__I was standing in line with Mr. Jimmy  
__And man, did he look pretty ill  
__We decided that we would have a soda  
__My favorite flavor, cherry red  
__I sung my song to Mr. Jimmy…_

"Damn it.." House opened his eyes and turned off the ipod, yanking the earbuds from his ears. He sighed and rubbed his face again. "Look..Wilson… I'm…" he started, but then stopped. He couldn't complete it. He couldn't apologize that it was his fault that his friend was shot and was now laying unconscious for two days in the very hospital he worked in. Greg House couldn't apologize…even to James Wilson…

Grabbing his cane, he slowly stood up and looked down at Wilson again. House limped over to the side of the bed and watched him sleep. Slowly, he reached his free hand out to lightly grip the sleeping man's hand. For a long moment, he stood there, leaning on his cane, holding Wilson's hand. "Wake up soon," he said, letting go and limping out of the room.

* * *

_As the philosopher had put it, other people were hell, House decided, casting a baleful eye on the cheerful icon that announced he had a new email. _

_It wasn't enough that his pager was down, cleverly stuffed in Chase's croc. Nor that he had locked his office door, and reduced a message-running nurse to tears earlier. Wilson seemed insistent to speak to him. And now he was resorting to the internet. _

_That was never a good sign._

"You_ need to talk to House," were not the words that Wilson wanted to hear from an angry Cuddy as he first walked into the hospital that morning. Frustration must be contagious, because clearly he caught it from her after she relayed the very long story to him. _

_He continued down the hall at a determined pace for House's office, lab coat trailing behind him like a cape. All morning he had been trying to get House to talk to him, and all morning his friend had continued to escape him. Wilson was passed annoyed…Cuddy made it a point to use that accusing tone of hers to say it wasn't just House's fault, but his. And as always, Wilson tried to curb her anger to support his friend. Honestly, on days like this, he wasn't sure why he did it._

_Wilson had already had a bad start from the morning when his alarm clock didn't go off, and when it finally did, fifteen minutes too late, it somehow ended up across the room at the base of the wall. Then there was no hot water, which he didn't have time to deal with since he was already late, and he was out of milk. Then the car threatened not to start. One would think a doctor would have a large enough salary to buy a working car, which he had, but even that just...didn't always work... and to top it all off, he spent the first part of his shift hearing a long rant from Cuddy accompanied by a "you go talk to him, he's your damn friend."_

_Stopping outside of House's office, Wilson stared at the door handle, tempted to try it, but knowing that it was probably locked. Instead, he dug in his pocket for the spare key he made and unlocked the door, stepping inside and folding his arms as he cleared his throat._

_There was no one in the hospital who could clear his throat just such, so clearly and decisively, it slid under House's skin like the scalpels the man used to butterfly out brain tumors. Except, faithfully carrying the metaphor, if Wilson's scalpel was turned to him, then the tumor to be filleted had to be his hope of escape. The dismal gloom thickened around him, and he swiveled his chair to face away from the door, steadily studying a selection of files._

_Wilson put his hands on his hips and glared a hole into the back of House's head. "You haven't looked at those files in ages, I know you're faking," he said, clearly annoyed._

_House cocked his head to the side, suspiciously regarding his favorite ball. After an inquiring second, he turned back to the files, until he found one in the back of the cabinet, and pulled it out. "That's strange. I could have sworn I heard some kind of irritating bird..."_

_With a frustrated sigh, Wilson hung his head for a moment, then looked up again. "You know what," he said as he started to walk over, "Cuddy is on the warpath and you're lucky she made me come in here." He stopped when he was beside House's chair and looked down at him, "What in the hell were you thinking? That woman's life was at stake and you were just taking random _guesses_?"_

_"_What the hell were you thinking, House?---stop playing God, House--it isn't all about the damn puzzle, House_---God, is it just me, or are you all starting to sound repetitive!" House's fingers clenched on the file, but he swung his chair around smoothly, to face his friend. He found often it was easiest to be calm and collected when he was the angriest. Wilson, on the other hand, looked ready to pop. He took sour satisfaction in this. "I think I'll wait for this conversation to come out on DVD. Didn't I lock my door?"_

_"You did lock your door, I have a key," Wilson replied quickly, not missing a beat and still holding the intense gaze, "And maybe, just maybe, we wouldn't be so repetitive if you would stop doing what's getting you in trouble, ever think about that?"_

_House considered. "Huh. No, I never thought about that. Go on, my friend, tell me the secrets of your perfect existence."_

_He folded his arms for a second, then started to motion with his hands in emphasis, "Don't try to get out of it by changing the subject or making it about me. It's about you. You were right, but you still screwed up. What if the next guess was wrong, what if you killed a patient or..or something!" Wilson ended with a large hand motion, building up steam._

_House laughed outright at that. "Oh, I love it when you get all hot and bothered. " His tone abruptly shifted, and narrowed. "Listen, if you think I'm wrong on a case, then stop me, don't come up here as Cuddy's errand boy and give me some lecture on morality!"_

_Wilson tightened his lips into a thin line, too angry to even think of a response. House was his friend, granted a highly frustrating and upsetting one sometimes, but still a friend. And friend or not, there were times when he wished that he could leave House on his own to suffer the wrath of what ever poor decisions he had made. What he knew, however, is that he could never actually do that to one of his friends. "You know what, maybe next time, I will just let Cuddy deal with this. I'll just tell her, 'Go talk to House, it's his problem, not mine, I'm not cleaning up one of his messes _again_!' Then it'll be _your_ ass on the line!"_

_"Don't _flatter_ yourself!" House gave him a bitter laugh, and stood, setting the folder down. "As if you have any real clout in this system. I get away with these sort of things because I'm a damn good doctor! Don't think it's at any level because of _you_!"_

_"And maybe you'd be an even better doctor if you didn't take random guesses and pull things out of the air!" He paused to take a breath and narrowed his eyes a little, "Someday, House, you are really going to do someone some damage. Permanent damage. If you don't kill them first."_

_House scoffed. "Thank you for the cheering words, _friend_. Now, if you would do me the favor of removing yourself..."_

_They were abruptly interrupted by the sound of gunfire in the hallway._


	3. So Long, Jimmy

Um, k…this chapter is kinda evil. But everything will be cool in the end because I have a sequel planned :D. Anyway..please don't keel me…I need to write the next chapter! So, may or may not be accurate, may or may not be in character and may or may not be typoes. Also, continuing with my random songs about guys named Jimmy theme. Next chapter won't be like that though, I couldn't help this one. And also, again, the BIG italic section is co-written with the wonderful charmisjess, she did the Houseisms :D.

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Chapter 3 – So Long Jimmy

_His attention was suddenly turned to the direction of the gunfire, the argument nearly forgotten and pushed into the back of his head. Wilson looked back to House, his brown eyes slightly wide. "Was that-..." he trailed off, leaving the question unfinished and moved for the door to investigate._

_House twitched himself out of his chair, groping for his cane. Despite his efforts, his heart was thrumming wildly; he hadn't quite forgotten his last exchange. "---you idiot, if it is gunfire, you don't want to go looking!"_

_Looking back at House, he paused for a moment, "It's gunfire in a hospital, that's bad. People get hurt, security comes, we're doctors, we help! Or at least try to.." Wilson headed for the door again._

_House dropped his cane, and swore, loudly. "You're an idiot!"_

_Wilson didn't stop, pulling the door open and looking down the hall in the direction of the gunshots. He glanced back at House, about to say something, when a man dressed in a pair of black pants and black ski jacket crashed into him from behind, pushing him back through the open door, onto the office floor. The man, having the element of surprise, gained the upper hand and quickly got back to his feet, pulling Wilson up with him one-handedly by his hair. In the man's other hand was a handgun, which he aimed at House, "Don't...even move, or I swear..."_

_Groaning out loud, House rolled his eyes. Oh, this was spectacular... "You'll swear, oh, we are in trouble. Wilson, you moron..." Panic crystallized under his skin, and he bit his lip, even as he hissed out exasperation. Not again. He couldn't do this again._

_"Me? _I'm_ the moron?" Wilson protested, glancing hesitantly at the gunman still holding him by his hair. He only stood there, trying to be as still as possible, with his hands up slightly to show that he wasn't about to do anything to trigger something... which was a really bad choice of words at the moment. He swallowed hard, his breathing turning slightly ragged, also in panic._

_There wasn't a man in the room who wasn't panicked, not even the gunman himself. He looked around sharply and took the gun sight off of House, instead shoving the still warm barrel against Wilson's cheek, pulling his head back slightly. Wilson gasped, but tried to stay still - calm - only his eyes pleaded. _

_"Shut up!" the gunman shouted, "Don't move, don't talk!"_

_Instead, House inched along the wall, toward one of the nurses who had been hit. "Oh, right. Is this a stickup? Listen, Twitchy, this is a hospital. Your stupid bank routine isn't going to work here..."_

_The gunman, clearly loosing his control quickly, cocked back the hammer on the gun. "I told you don't move!" he shouted at House._

_Wilson took a deep breath, "House, stop. Do..do what he says..."_

_House stopped for a moment and stared at the two of them. "Look, what ever you came for, you're not going to get it…all of us know that." He inched down the wall another step._

_The unstable gunman twitched, his face twisting in anger that his entire instructions to stop and shut up were not heeded. In one motion, he pushed Wilson down on the ground again and shot twice…_

_Wake up._

* * *

"_Wake up."_

"_Stop your whining, it doesn't hurt that much."_

"_Listen, if you think I'm wrong on a case, then stop me, don't come up here as Cuddy's errand boy and give me some lecture on morality!"_

"_I get away with these sort of things because I'm a damn good doctor! Don't think it's at any level because of _you_!"_

"_Listen, Twitchy, this is a hospital. Your stupid bank routine isn't going to work here..."_

"_Damn it, James, wake up!"_

Wake up.

* * *

The first thing he heard was the EKG monitor beeping in rhythm with his heart. Slowly, Wilson moved his hand, testing the monitor clip on his finger. He had worked in the hospital for years, but Wilson had never woken up as a patient.

He struggled to open his brown eyes, feeling heavy with the haze of morphine. There was something on his bed, he could feel it. Slowly, he looked down towards his feet as the world came into focus. There were four or five file folders laying on top of his legs and the lower half of his bed. Wilson creased his brow slightly in confusion and glanced to the side. The confusion left his face and was replaced by a weak smile.

The chair next to the bed was again occupied by House, who was asleep with his ipod headphones in, another file folder rested against his chest and his ever-present cane leaning against it. A whole section of the glass wall behind him was taken up by the doctor's familiar scrawl in white pen, obviously trying to figure out a problem.

For a moment, Wilson considered waking him, but the prospect of Gregory House, the man who only went into a patient's room if the matter was of life or death (and usually his), was actually asleep in a hospital chair in his room was too amusing to let go. Wilson closed his eyes, the small smile still on his face.

A moment later, House stirred and yawned, rubbing his face. He blinked a few times and looked to Wilson, surprised to see him awake. Yanking the headphones from his ears, House sat up slightly, his legs still propped up on the edge of the bed. "Good morning, sunshine," he said in his normal sarcastic manner, but there was a hint of warmness underneath.

Wilson swallowed, trying to get the cotton dryness out of his mouth. "Is it?" he whispered hoarsely after a moment.

"Is it what?" House asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Morning.."

A look of curiosity crossed his friend's face and he looked at his watch. "Hmm..barely."

Slowly, Wilson reached up to lightly rub his face with his arm that wasn't restrained by a sling, feeling the light stubble on his chin and cheeks. "How long was I asleep?"

"Two days. And to think that I about to be your Prince Charming and kiss you if you didn't wake up soon."

"Hm…you're not my type.." Wilson replied groggily.

House feigned an offended look, "Aw, Jimmy, I'm hurt…I thought we had something, man!"

A small amused smile crossed his face before he slowly opened his eyes again and looked over at House. Wilson creased his brow slightly, "What are you doing here anyway, I thought you hated being in patient's rooms.."

"I do," House replied, then glanced at the door, "I'm avoiding Cuddy. It was quiet in here..until you woke up."

"Oh..do you want me to go back to sleep and leave you alone?"

"Well it could do both of us some good."

Wilson winced slightly as his stitches protested a little. He knew his friend's sense of humor. He knew that House didn't mean to intentionally hurt…usually. But it left an awkward silence for a moment. "So nice to be loved.." he added finally with a small sigh that ended in a cough. He squeezed his eyes shut as the action had jarred pain loose again, shooting up into his chest.

House leaned forward, concern not hidden from his face. "James?" he asked, "What do you need?"

Swallowing hard, he coughed again. His chest ached, but he filed it off as only related to surgery and nothing else. Wilson took a breath though his mouth, hoping to avoid coughing again and worsening the pain. He looked up at House, "Water.."

Not bothering with his cane, House stood up and quickly grabbed a cup, filling it with water and handing it to his friend, carefully helping him to drink. "Slowly.." he said softly.

Barely had he had his first swallow of water when James gave a choking cough, spitting out the water. He gasped. Pain..more pain. He couldn't breathe. The EKG monitor suddenly sounded in warning.

House practically threw the cup he was holding at the table – he couldn't tell if it was just Wilson's heart that was racing dangerously fast or if it was really just his own.

"Wilson!" he shouted at him, as if that in itself would suddenly stop everything and bring it back to normal. House's hands shook, but at least this time they knew what to do. There wasn't time to freeze.

The younger doctor wasn't breathing at all. The room blurred…he lost focus. His brown eyes slowly closed as he lost consciousness, despite House shouting unheard words at him. Nothing.

The world that had suddenly become warped with worry and panic turned painfully clear again as the EKG monitor let out a clear single sound. House's head snapped up. Too late. He swore and looked at the door where someone who was standing in the doorway had heard the alarm. "Call the code! Get a crash cart in here!!" House ordered. "Someone get the damn bag!"

The someone was suddenly across from him. He looked up – Cameron. She was the one that placed the plastic mask and bag over Jimmy's face, pumping the essential air into his still lungs.

"What happened?" she cried over both the noise of the room and their hearts pounding in their own ears.

House only shook his head. He couldn't answer. His mind was otherwise occupied with saving a life – his friend's. Taking the paddles from the first person who had them, he gripped them until his knuckles turned white. "Clear!" House shouted, his voice sounding distant to himself, as if he wasn't even standing in the room. He wished he wasn't.

Wilson's body jumped at the jolt of electricity. There was no change in the single note of the EKG monitor. House shook his head. "Clear!" he cried out again, pressing the paddles down.

"Clear!"

"Clear!"

There was an electrical whine as the paddles recharged. Wilson's head leaned lifelessly to one side, even as Cameron held the mask against his face. There was no response…

House blinked back the tears that stung his eyes. "Clear!!" he shouted with the top of his lungs, hoping that if he put all of his effort into it…he could save him.

The death singer's song was interrupted. _Beep…beep…beep_. Slowly, the heartbeat stabilized. Letting out a shaky breath, House put the paddles down and sunk heavily back into his chair. His leg suddenly hurt, as if it had been waiting until all of this passed. Massaging it, he only watched as Cameron readjusted everything.

He closed his eyes for a moment, still breathing hard and feeling the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Slowly, House leaned forward again, resting his elbows against the edge of the bed. He picked up Wilson's hand and held it against his forehead. "God, James.." he whispered so low that not even Cameron heard him, "Don't do that again…not ever.. you're all I have left."

On the other side of the bed, Allison watched for a moment before reaching up to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. She had her own reasons. Gently, she reached out and brushed back Wilson's dark hair, letting her hand rest on top of his head as she lingered there with both of them for a long moment. House didn't look up to see her tears. And before he would notice, she silently headed for the door, pausing slightly at the doorway to look back. Then she left.

It was quiet once again. No one saw House's shoulders shake.


	4. Glass

K, finally updated. Might be slightly ooc at the end, but I don't care :D. I mean, I care, but I don't tonight. Anyway…the glass idea was given to me by sparowe, who is awesome. Hopefully I'll be able to update sooner. Enjoy.

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Chapter 4 – Glass 

Cuddy made House go back to clinic duty. There were more idiots than usual. The case dragged on… the ducklings were quiet – especially Cameron. Life kept going at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, even without Wilson. But it wasn't the same.

There was no more writing on the glass wall of the room, no file folders spread out on the bed. No evidence that House had been there much at all. In fact, he hadn't been…not to Cameron's knowledge anyway.

Instead, she had taken up the chair he had previously occupied next to James' bed. This time, it was only a day before he stirred. With a small relieved smile, Cameron leaned forward, gently picking up his hand.

Wilson blinked slowly and squinted a little. It took a minute before Allison's face came into focus. "Cameron?" he whispered.

"Hey.." she breathed with a comforting smile, "How do you feel?"

"Mmm…" Wilson sighed softly, closing his eyes, "What happened?"

"You-.." Cameron hesitated slightly, lacking the solid yet gentle tone she used with patients, "You had a pulmonary embolism…there was a clot, from the trauma and surgery, and when you coughed-…"

Wilson opened his eyes with sudden realization, "Where's House?"

"You um..your heart stopped…" she continued, almost ignoring his question.

"Cameron.." he looked up at her to get her attention, "Where's House?"

She sighed, looking down at their hands, "I don't know, probably in his office."

"Is he..ok?" Wilson asked softly.

Cameron looked up again at him. "You…almost died. You did die for a few minutes and you ask if House is ok?" she questioned, not harshly, but truly wanting to know.

"He's my friend," Wilson said softly.

"He hasn't come in here."

"But you stayed?"

Cameron hesitated. She never forgot House's words about damages. And here was another damaged man; Dr. James Wilson, kind, sad divorcé, wanting to be loved. Almost the polar opposite of House. Every time House did something that hurt her, intentionally or not, Wilson was there to catch her. It didn't just take this event for her to notice.

She had noticed long ago his brown eyes and somewhat embarrassed smile as he felt guilty on behalf of his friend. But there was something else too. Cameron had much experience with flirtatious men, and she could honestly say that this had turned into something entirely different. Either Wilson was a terribly good actor, or it was more than just flirting. And it did take almost loosing him for Cameron to realize that.

Squeezing his hand gently, she smiled a little, "But I stayed."

"Thank you," he whispered with true gratefulness in his voice, and she had the distinct feeling that he hated to be alone.

Cameron's smile faded slightly, "I was-..we…we were worried about you."

"You..were?" he asked almost hesitantly.

"You almost died, James…"

"I know.." Wilson trailed off for a moment. It was strange to think of it that way. Such a dramatic role reversal.

The silence was awkward. Cameron stared down at the hand she was holding again. Lightly, she stroked his knuckles with her thumb, then abruptly stopped and cautiously let go of his hand, feeling self-conscious about it. "But it was a freak thing," she smiled a little nervously, breaking the silence, "Nothing to worry about now." She hesitated for a moment, watching him. "Do you um…need anything?"

He sighed tiredly, closing his eyes for a minute. He hated the disassociated feeling caused by the morphine…granted vicodin was a lesser opioid, but he wondered how House managed that or if he truly enjoyed that feeling. Wilson certainly didn't. "No.." he said after a minute, "I'm fine…"

Cameron nodded a little and stood up. "I'll let you rest," she said softly and started to walk towards the door.

"Allison.." he called after her, watching her pause at the door and turn back towards him. "Could you..stay for awhile?"

A small smile crossed her lips and she walked back over, "Of course."

* * *

House sat in his office, twirling his cane absently with one hand as he stared out the window of his office, watching the rain streaking down the glass and distorting the image of the outside world. But he wasn't really looking out the window – not concentrating on anything at all. It was just one of many distractions from the two folders sitting on his desk; one that belonged and one that didn't. 

He watched a car drive by, the headlights reflecting on every surface that was slick with rain water, and bouncing into his office. House leaned back in his chair, trying to avoid the spotlight. He didn't want to see or be seen by anyone now. Pushing himself backwards with his good leg, he rolled over to the edge of the curtains to shut them, blocking out the outside lights. Now, he was alone…in the dark, where he could brood properly.

This was a more extreme of misanthropy – he hated people enough to not even want to attempt to associate with them. This was when there would be a soft knock at his office door, and House wouldn't answer. But that wouldn't stop Wilson from coming in and pulling him back out of his dark mood, even if it always didn't appear that way to the oncologist.

There was no knock. No one came. Even his ducklings avoided him. House gave a lengthy sigh. This is what it would be like if Wilson had ceased to exist. If he had di-…

But he didn't, he was still there. Only, House hadn't seen him. Not since the day that he had crashed. What was he doing, did he want to let go? Did he want to disassociate himself so that the loss of his last handhold on life wouldn't hurt him? And in the process, abandon Wilson?

Maybe he just didn't care. That's what he said, he didn't care. He convinced himself he didn't. Because inside, he was just frozen.

Everybody lies. Even Greg House.

There was a soft knock at the door. He looked up suddenly, expecting to see what he knew he wouldn't. Instead, it was Cameron, peering into his dark office with the same concerned expression that she always carried. He sighed a little, leaning back into his chair more.

Slowly, Cameron pushed the door open and stepped inside, "House? What are you still doing here?"

"Because I'm sitting in the dark, what does it look like," he said, raising an eyebrow, "What are _you_ doing here, spying on me?"

"No, I was…visiting Dr. Wilson. He's um, awake," she replied softly, fidgeting slightly with her hands in front of her.

House didn't say anything, but stared at the curtained window.

"He asked about you."

Cameron sighed and looked down at the floor, "I thought you might have wanted to know."

"Thank you, now I do," House said finally, no true thanks in his voice, only sarcasm.

She looked back at him, folding her arms, "Are you going to go see him? He asked for you, you're his friend."

"I got him shot!" House nearly twitched, sharply looking up at her. The outburst was unexpected to him too, and he gripped the handle of his cane harder, turning his head back to face the window.

Cameron's expression softened. House knew what was coming, he could feel it, like the vibrations of movement he could feel through the ground with his damaged leg that let him know when someone or something was coming closer.

"House…" she started, gently, "This wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was."

"But you-…" she was quickly interrupted by him.

"Go home, Cameron. Let me angst in peace."

Lightly, she shook her head. "You're treating this like some…badly written piece of fiction. It's not, it's real life. Wilson asked for you. I think you should go see him," she said softly, and sighed again, almost disappointed, before she walked out of his office.

House didn't turn to watch her go. "_I'm_ acting like a badly written piece of fiction…" he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes. Slowly, he looked back towards the office door. Using the edge of the desk as support, House winced as he stood up, leaning heavily on his cane.

The hallways were never empty, but at night it was the closest that they would ever come to it. He slowly headed down to the ICU, with the familiar sound of uneven footsteps accented by the cane, until he reached the room he had been looking for.

The lights were off – similar to his office – only the soft glow of the monitors illuminated Wilson's face. His chest rose and fell rhythmically with the patterns of sleep. House stood outside of the window. He wanted to go inside, yet..he didn't. He couldn't make himself move any further, almost as if he was afraid that something else might happen if he did. Something else would happen. It always did…all of his chances and risks, his qualities, had punished Wilson in some way. Now it had been a smartass comment.

House reached forward with his free hand, putting his fingertips against the cold glass. An emotionless barrier between them that didn't care what House was doing, or what he had to say. He slowly pressed his hand flat against the glass, trying to feel through it. With a long sigh, House leaned forward, resting his forehead against the glass too.

"I'm sorry, James," he whispered.


End file.
